


You'll Never Know, Dear

by ThatAj



Series: Exposure: One Step at a Time [7]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, POV Brian Kinney (Queer as Folk), POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-21 22:12:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16585202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatAj/pseuds/ThatAj
Summary: "She punched my arm and it felt like deja vu. 'You better fix this.'"Daphne to the rescue.





	You'll Never Know, Dear

 

_I looked him in the eyes. I stood up. And I walked out._

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I got the fuck out of there as quickly as I could. Sobs came pouring out from Justin like an avalanche, and I wished I could fill my ears with wax to not hear - to never hear, - those cries. I don’t remember making my way through the maze of the hospital and out to the parking lot. How the fuck. How the fuck could I make sure Justin was okay...going to eventually be okay. Obviously _HMS Okay Right Now_ had already sailed. I laid my head back against the headrest in the driver’s seat and held back my own tears. _You have no fucking right to cry, asshole, you don’t get to have feelings about this._

Deep breath. I couldn’t leave Justin without any support since I obviously could not fucking be there. He asked me not to tell anyone, but I had to believe that someone knowing was better than him being there all alone because of my selfishness in keeping him with me because I wanted him no matter how much it fucked up his life. I scrolled through my contacts until I found the right one: “Spitfire.”

“Hello? Brian?”

“I..I...It’s Justin.” My voice was thick with all the emotions I did not deserve to have.

“Justin! What? What happened? Is he okay?” She is the only other person who feels like Justin is a part of her, who physically hurts when he hurts.

“All-Allegheny General, second floor. Can you get over there? Now.” I know I’m barking orders, and she doesn’t deserve that shit, but I just have limited bandwidth for anyfuckingthing right now.

“Allegheny? Brian! What’s going on?” She was beginning to panic.

“He’s… just... you need to go. He needs you. He needs support and I can’t...I can’t be with him. I’m fucking hurting him. Just like always. Same shit. I can’t keep hurting him like this, Daph. Please, please can you just go?” I was begging. I do not beg. I also do not interfere with making sure Justin gets what he needs, at least once I understand what that is. And he obviously needed not-me.

“You’re hurting... You would never…” I could hear her gear up to argue with me and at some point the urgency of it all must have dawned on her. And thank fuck because I just could not argue this right then. “You know what? Nevermind. Of course, of course. Brian, you know that. I’m on my way.”

“Just...as fast as you can, Daph. He needs you.”

“Consider it done.”

“Okay....and Daph? Thank you.” I hung up before she could say more.

There is a pretty clearly established timeline here. Justin spends the first nearly year of knowing me trying to convince me that there’s something between us. I deny deny deny and push him the fuck away. Except, you know, behind closed doors when I could not get enough of the boy -his ass and his sense of humor and his intellect. And every fucking time since then, when I have dared to admit or dared to allow myself to acknowledge that I might fucking feel something- that I might actually like him and want him around and in my life - shit happens. I decide I want to show up to his prom and just fucking know it’s me putting that smile on his face, and I dare to let him know that he was right all this time and I do feel something, I do want him, I do fucking… And he gets bashed and loses control of his hand, the thing he needs in order to do what he was put on this planet to do (besides fuck like a god) and can’t remember “the best night of his life.” Or now. I ask him to move in because I fucking want him around like the selfish shit I am and somehow he wants to be around me for whatever fucking reason. And he becomes depressed, he’s suicidal. He’s fucking ripping himself apart and destroyed by thoughts of harm coming to me and my son. I don’t fucking think that’s coincidence. Why the fuck else would he be having thoughts like that? I am no good for him. I hurt him. I’m the one causing harm to him, not the other way around.

As much as I... I can’t keep being this selfish asshole. I will never ever put what I might want above his happiness. And fuck my happiness above his emotional stability. I’ve been a selfish bastard until now. Debbie and Michael and Lindsay… the people who know me best, people who fucking love me, they know what I am. But I let myself relax, and I let myself think I could be different. Let myself think that maybe I get to have chance at this in this lifetime. And here I am as selfish as before just in a different way and it’s absofuckinglutely clear I do not get a chance at this. This type of happiness is just not meant for me. I have put wanting Sunshine in my life above what is best for this kid. This kid who deserves nothing but happiness. This kid who doesn’t know what he needs to be happy. He thinks it’s me. And I’ve fucking sold him that lie. I can sell anything to anyone. I sell myself to the client. And I sell the public the idea that they can’t be happy without whatever it is I’m hawking. And over these years, I’ve sold Justin me. So no, I don’t get Sunshine in my life. I’ve got to fix this shit as best I fucking can.

I get to go back to the loft, where I lived alone perfectly fine before. I get to go and live the life that I was perfectly content with before. I just need to go back to before. Erase the memories of what it feels like for the loft to be a home. To come home to someone. To think of someone during the day and in what I do. I was fine before. I can go back to fine. I have no choice. It’s me or Justin and I will always choose Justin.

I don’t remember the drive from Allegheny General to Tremont Street. I don’t remember the little things you do to park, get out of the car, and walk up steps. I do remember sliding the door open and how it echoed. I do remember the silence. It felt oppressive. I didn’t ever remember the loft being so silent before. Not even when Justin was out at the diner, or PIFA, or even when he was with Ethan. This silence was the finality. Justin wasn’t coming back. I wouldn’t let him. I don’t care how much pain it caused, because I knew. From the moment he told me about those violent thoughts, I knew it would cause more pain for him to be here - to be with me - than to be pushed out of my life. And I’m not talking about just now at the hospital. The moment I heard “and others” I knew there was a stick of dynamite with a timer counting down and I wasn’t sure how much time we had, but once that timer went off and the dynamite fucking exploded, our relationship was going to be destroyed. Only one of us could walk away, and it was going to be Justin. It was always going to be Justin. The loft was filled to the ceiling with silence and I knew I could fill it with screaming and once the screaming was over the silence would return so what would be the fucking point.

I made my way to the bedroom and tore off my suit. It was too fucking early to go anywhere, except maybe Woody’s but fuck if I was going to run into someone who would want to know where was poor Sunshine and was he feeling better and why was I out if he was sick? Spare me.

I get that _now_ it’s clear that how I went about that night would be considered “Classic Brian Kinney Pain Management” by my beloved family. And sure from a perspective of looking back and some fucking growth, I can see that. Sure sure sure. But let’s not give me too fucking much credit. Say what you will about denial and what I may have been feeling. But I wasn’t thinking about my pain. I didn’t deserve to have pain. I caused Justin pain, and he didn’t deserve pain so how the fuck do I get to feel badly about not getting to have him in my life? My logic at that moment went like this: I wanted Justin, being with Justin inevitably causes him pain and suffering, I don’t get to have Justin in my life, my life returns to its pre-Sunshine glory days and since I don’t get to feel sad about this because I’m the maker of my own misery, the best way to to accomplish that is to jump right back into the deep end and start living out those glory days as soon as fucking possible. This may seem familiar to those of you who’ve followed our little story since this was the exact same approach I took once Justin woke up from his coma and we knew he would live. Only that time, once I saw Justin at Woody’s and that face and those eyes, my resolved weakened and I fucking caved. I would not let that happen again. I could not let that happen. Justin’s life clearly depended on my ability to keep my fucking distance, no matter his face or eyes, or his ass for that matter.

The question was, how the fuck do I remove my heart from the rest of me?

I donned some slutty clubbing clothes and ensured that my hair looked perfectly messy. Still too early to go anywhere, so no shoes just yet. I sauntered over to the bar cart and grabbed a bottle. Not to forget, never that. This was my life _before_ and I was perfectly fine, I was living before. Or, at least I was alive before. I could return to that. I would return to that. The bottle I picked up was Clase Azul, with which I had surprised Justin shortly after he had returned from LA but long enough after returning that I just wanted to do something, anything to make him smile. Whatever, I’ve never enjoyed tequila, and that’s why I put it down. That’s the only reason I put it down. Instead I grabbed a bottle of Booker’s. Probably not the stuff to drink straight from the bottle but what the fuck, it was a special occasion. I lifted the bottle in cheers to absolutely no one. I didn’t fucking need anyone else. I’m perfect on my own. I’ve always been perfect and I’ve always been on my own. No need to bring anyone into this fucked up shit I call a life. I toasted me, myself, and I, and brought the bottle to my lips and just drank. And drank. And drank.

Bottle in my hand, I walked over to the dresser where I kept my box of shit I bought off Anita. I stuck my hand in, wanting to surprise myself with what I selected. A grab bag, if you will. A little bit of this up my nose and a little bit of that on my tongue. And I was ready to head out. Still early for Babylon, but fuck, it was the return of the King. The party started whenever I arrived.

And don’t fucking think I didn’t give a thought to how it would _appear_ to others showing up tweaked the fuck out of my mind when poor little Sunshine was supposedly at home sick in bed. And don’t get your panties twisted. I appreciated how much love Justin inspired. Emmett, Ted, and even Mikey thought of him as one of us and for that I was always truly appreciative because if anyone should inspire love - if anyone did deserve that kind of caring - it was our fucking Sunshine. They felt protective of him. Including wanting to protect him against me. And fuck it, they should be protecting him against me, as I think we’ve clearly established. I. Was. No. Good. For him, for anyone. For me even, but what the fuck did I care about me, did anyone care about me? They shouldn’t.

So it crossed my mind and then, for the first time in history, I felt fucking grateful that the guys were each pursuing some imitation heterosexual fantasy. Mikey home with his professor. Ted at some singles mixer event. Emmett pining after Drew. No one was going to be at Babylon and for once I was glad to be alone. Free.

That’s what it fucking was, I was free. I was free from the responsibility of caring for anyone else but myself. Free from the expectations to fucking consider someone else. Free to do what the fuck I wanted. And what I wanted was to drink and drug and fuck. That’s what I’ve always wanted. I’d just gotten slowed down, distracted. It’s what I wanted.

Complete freedom from anyone else. It’s what I wanted. Right?

If it crossed my mind that Justin had never once felt like a responsibility, like someone I was beholden to. If it crossed my mind that drinking, drugging, and fucking were not anything I couldn’t or wouldn’t do if Justin were here. If it crossed my mind that Justin would be right there with me, matching me drink for drink, snort for snort, trick for trick and that is, in fact, why I… no, it didn’t cross my mind.

Or at least he would be if he wasn’t...if I hadn’t once again fucked things up, fucked him up beyond...I just hoped he would be okay. He would be back to himself. I would gladly forego Babylon if it meant he could be there, enjoying himself, living his goddamn life, like he had before. Just before. I would go elsewhere. I would make do with some other club. If he could just... If the universe, if some god I didn’t believe in, would allow him to heal from the latest damage I had inflicted upon him.

If there was a gnawing feeling in my stomach it was that I hadn’t eaten since Cynthia left a power bar on my desk around noon.

I ignored any discomfort, knowing once I drank more, I would feel no pain, and headed to Babylon.

I went directly to the bar. I was never one for dancing and certainly not without the guys there. Without Justin. I have no delusions about my abilities on the dance floor. And that’s not why I was here. I was here to fucking reclaim my fucking freedom. My life, as much as what I had been doing could be called living. No. Thinking like that was pathetic. Brian Kinney is not pathetic.

I ordered a double, knocked it back and ordered another. I surveyed my kingdom while I drank. It was a sparse crowd given the time, but that’s never stopped me. I’ve never fucking backed down from a challenge.

The first trick I pulled was tall and lean with dark skin, dark eyes, and dark hair. I hooked two fingers around his belt loop and escorted him to the back room. He went to kiss me on the mouth, and I pushed on one of his shoulders until he started to kneel. He wasn’t bad, and he seemed to enjoy me roughly fucking his mouth as much as I did. As he swallowed and hummed around my cock, I allowed my whole body to become my cock and everything else went blank. I came with a groan, fastened my pants, and headed back to the bar, not a single thought spared for the trick.

The second trick was shorter and muscled with a shaved head, the kind of tough guy that I love to top. I spun him around and pulled his pants just as low as necessary before I sunk into him. Again, I allowed my mind to go blank except for the sensations and the noises of other couples moaning, groaning, and occasionally shouting. I was efficient and good - no dissatisfied customers. As soon as he moaned his orgasm, I let myself go. Again, I cleaned up as quickly as possible and left the back room without a second glance.

If I wasn’t pulling blonde haired, blue eyed tricks of the twink variety that was merely coincidence and it meant nothing,

And if I kept escorting men to the back room far after I felt satiated and I was beginning to feel sore, it just meant the night was young. It definitely did not mean I was reluctant...I was dreading...returning home to that oppressive silence filling the loft. That I was dreading sleeping because I couldn’t imagine what the morning would bring. I had woken up without Justin beside me many times - when he was still living with Daphne, when he was in LA, when he had the early shift at the diner - but I had never woken up without him beside me knowing that he would never share my bed again. Knowing that this was a permanent, not temporary condition. Not even when he had been off playing at happy families with Ethan, even then I knew deep down under the pain of missing him, that we were inevitable.

Leaving it to Brian fucking Kinney to fuck up the inevitable. No wonder they call me asshole.

Suddenly, the pain that I anticipated morning would bring sobered me up somewhat and moved me toward the entrance. The promise of that pain seemed almost purifying. Like when you knock into something really hard and a huge bruise develops and the pain is evidence of what has happened. I suddenly wanted to feel that pain, sharp and distinct. I had earned that pain. That pain was the physical manifestation of how much I had fucked up. Of what shit my life was. It would be a focus, almost tangible. Something I could point to and say, “Here, here it is. I have spoiled the one pure and good thing the universe has ever seen fit to bestow upon me. And I have wrecked it again and again. This pain is by my own hand. I earned it. I deserve it.” And yet, I also knew I didn’t get to give myself an inch, a moment, a chance to heal. I had to get up the next day and the next and the next and keep going. It was not my life that I wrecked, my life was already beyond wrecking. The punishment is feeling the pain and going on.

And I was alone in it. Mikey, Ted, and Emmett, they each deserve happiness. And fuck it, if happiness was for them some monogamous life as a couple, I wouldn’t begrudge them that. I wanted to be finished with the business of shitting on others’ happiness. I had one shot at happiness. Justin was it. Who are we shitting to even think there’s another chance out there for me? I fucked it up, got chance after chance, and fucked it up again and again. At the very least, I could do what I could to avoid fucking it up for my friends. Give Kinney a wide berth, don’t you know? Haven’t you heard? He will take the most beautiful thing you never even dared imagine and destroy it, just because he can.

No Mikey to drive me home and put me to bed, so I called a car service. I needn’t spare any luxury. The one thing I had left was my money, and I tried to avoid an image of myself as Scrooge McDuck, jumping into a pool of coins.

I stumbled into the building and then the elevator. As I slide the elevator door open, I saw sitting on the floor in front of my loft, all 5’ 2” of that spitfire. She scrambled to her feet, eyes blazing in anger.

“What have you done Brian?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” I slurred.

“Why the fuck would you leave him and _then_ call me and tell me you’ve hurt him?”

“Cuz that’s what happened.”

“Then why the fuck didn’t you stay, you bastard?”

“Like I said, I hurt him. What more do you want, Daphne? I hurt him. That’s what I do. I get his brains bashed in, I make him suicidal, I make him fucking homicidal or whateverthefuck.”

She closed her eyes like she was trying to summon all the patience she could. “Let me understand this. He tells you he’s having violent images of you and Gus. You leave for whatever mother fucking reason your warped mind has come up with and you call me to tell me to go to him. Because you’ve hurt him.”

“I was there. You’re boring me. Do you have a point?”

“Shut the fuck up Kinney, I’m getting there.”

“Christ, have you been taking lessons from Debbie?”

“What part of shut the fuck up doesn’t your drunk, tweaked-out brain understand?”

I stayed silent. It seemed like my safest option. I was fucked up but not stupid.

“Brian...when you said you hurt Justin, you didn’t mean you hurt him today? Like that’s not what you were talking about when you called me?” Her voice was patronizingly patient.

“I seem to have some fucking super power to fuck him up. I didn’t think I had super powers, I thought I was just drawn that way. Fucking surprise, looks like I do but I’m the villain, I’m not the complex and conflicted hero of this tale.”

“Enough with the self-pity, Kinney. And enough with this fucking ego. You didn’t cause this shit. Hobbs bashed him, not you. His brain chemistry created suicidal and violent thoughts, not you. Jesus Christ, Brian. I knew you had a high opinion of yourself but, really, you are not that important or powerful.”

…

“You don’t get off that easy, shithead. You hurt him. You really fucking hurt him. He was devastated and fucking heartbroken like I had never seen him before when I got to the hospital.”

“He was?” I asked hoarsely.

“If you didn’t leave today because you were scared of the violent thoughts he’s been having. If you didn’t feel threatened by them or that you had to protect Gus from him...then you really fucked up.”

“Threatened? Protect Gus? From Justin?” I was completely confused. “Why would I…”

“What else was he supposed to think?”

“If I hadn’t been in his life. If I hadn’t convinced him to be with me, to love me. If I hadn’t fucking sold him on me, then he wouldn’t be haunted and hurt by these images...which you’re saying is me putting myself…”

“Front and center of what’s going on with Justin. This is about Justin, not you. Justin. I don’t know how else to help you understand this. I could beat you upside the head...”

“Fuck, no more spending time with Debbie for you. How - how was he?”

“Brian, if you walked out from some misguided idea that you were somehow protecting him. If this is somehow about you making a decision about what’s best for him, you need to fucking fix this. He thinks you’ve left him because he’s sick. He thinks you’re scared of him.”

I felt my eyes begin to sting and I whispered, “I’m not… I could never…”

“I know. I tried to tell him. But really, Brian, what was he supposed to think? It’s hard enough for me to follow your twisted - albeit well-intentioned - logic, and I’m not sick.”

“Shit.”

“Shit is right.” She punched my arm and it felt like deja vu. “You better fix this.”

I slumped against the wall, still outside the loft. “Fuck. I will. I will. I’ll do whatever it takes, I’ll make it right. I didn’t mean for him to think...god. I never meant to…”

“Fix it. And if you won’t, if you can’t, then get the hell away from him and never ever come near him again. I won’t see him like this.”

“I will. I...thank you.”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m not doing this for you.”

“I know, that’s not why I’m thanking you.” She gave me a curt nod and turned heel and left.

I unlocked and slid the loft door open. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, I drained it as I walked to the bedroom. I peeled off my clothes and showered. My bed still smelled like Justin, and I didn’t want the stink of sex and booze to erase it. I pulled on one of Justin’s old t-shirts - it was impossibly soft from wearing and washing and it was covered in paint. I just needed to have something of his as fucking close as possible. If I could have absorbed this shirt into my very cells, I would have. Sliding into the cool sheets, I rolled over to Justin’s side of the bed. He has this long body pillow that he got when he moved in after the bashing. When he would wake up terrified from a nightmare, he sometimes could not tolerate being touched but still wanted physical comfort. The genius my boy is figured out some Temple Grandin level shit by getting this body pillow that could provide a sense of comfort as well as safety. It smelled so fucking much like him that I could close my eyes and almost imagine I was holding him pressed against his back, the way we usually sleep. I allowed my still high and drunk mind to slip slide over the confrontation with Daphne. She fucking had my number in ways that those who have known decades longer don’t seem to. It felt like my heart was pierced through to my back as I thought about the damage I had caused Justin that day. What would this mean for his recovery if I had reinforced his fears? That I had reinforced the isolation I knew he was already feeling? That I took the courage it took to confide in me and pissed all over it. Not the first time I had pissed all over something that he poured his heart into, made himself vulnerable for. Except this time, I didn’t think fixing it would be as easy as reprinting and investing some money. That’s the type of fixing I know I can do.

I said I would do anything for Justin to be happy. That more than anyone, he deserves for his light to shine. Well Kinney, time to walk the motherfucking walk, I thought as I tried to drift off. And if I had imagined falling asleep alone and believing it would be forever was going to be difficult, it was absofuckinglutely nothing compared with falling asleep knowing the damage I caused was worse than I could have begun to understand. And there wasn’t a fucking thing I could about it until the hours passed by and I could get myself to the hospital and set my hands and eyes on him...if he would even let me.

I was lying there awake when my alarm went off. I pulled on the first pair of jeans I found - this old ratty pair that I really only wear around the loft - and stumbled to the kitchen to make coffee. Despite the caffeine infusion, I looked about as shitty as I felt. I honestly could not give a flying fuck. I just needed to be at the hospital and signed in when visiting hours started.

After signing in, I walked to the unit and an orderly told me to follow him to the activity room where Justin was. Of course he wasn’t in the visiting room. Daphne would never arrive this early, and I had not let him believe there was any hope I was returning. I mean I didn’t think I would be fucking returning myself.

I saw him speaking with a nurse and showing her his sketch pad. That’s our Sunshine, making friends no matter the circumstance. I saw the moment he looked up and registered that I was there. The relief in his eyes made me feel like there was a knife twisting in my gut.

Somehow and suddenly he was in my arms, my nose in his hair, and my whole body shaking trying to contain myself. Once again, I’m not the one who was hurt here. I’m not the one in pain. He doesn’t get placed in the position of having to comfort me, that’s not how this works.

“Fuck, Justin,” I breathed.

“Brian?” His voice broke and I felt something inside me break along with it. I pulled back, my arms still around him, so I could look him in the face. His face was pale and the skin around his eyes was red and puffy; he had clearly been crying. I forced myself to not look away, to stare into his face and fucking acknowledge the shit I had put him through.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“It’s visiting hours, Sunshine,” I said, like I had not given him every reason to think I would never be coming to visit him again. What the fuck was I playing at? I cupped my hands around his pale face and kissed him, hoping to communicate what I couldn’t find the words to say. The kiss started gentle at first but it intensified. It had been 12 hours since my body touched his and goddamnit I needed this. I don’t know who the fuck I thought I was fooling telling myself I would cut him out of my life because it was best for him. That I would simply return to how I had been living before I walked over to that street lamp. To return to how I had been living would mean that I had been living at all. There was no living for me before this kid. And now that I knew what living truly was, I was fucked. More than that, he was fucked because I was not going to walk away. I hoped Daphne knew what the fuck she was talking about when she said being with me was not what hurt him. Because now I knew, to survive - and that’s what it would fucking be, just surviving - without him would only be possible if I was numbed and fucked out of my head with so many drugs and so much booze that it would probably kill me and what the fuck would I care at that point because I wouldn’t even really be alive anyway.

I felt a hand touch me gently on my shoulder and I broke away from Justin and spun around, intending to let whoeverthefuck it was know that I had just as much right to kiss my boyfriend as some straight fuck. Before I said anything, I luckily registered it was the petite blond nurse Justin had been speaking with, and she was clearly family.

“Looks like the two of you could use some privacy to talk,” she said.

I was about to laugh at the euphemism, but then realized we were on a psychiatric unit and talking was like fucking medicine here.

“Yeah, we probably could,” I said.

“The therapy rooms aren’t being used right now. Why don’t I let you in one?” She walked us over to a small room with a large window in the door. “You’ll have to keep the door open. It’sa safety precaution.” I could only imagine why.

The room had two vaguely comfortable chairs and a small table. It would do and was a fuck of a lot better than being out among the other patients and their visitors. Justin sat in one of the chairs and looked up at me and as much as I deserved to see the anguish on his face, I just could not.

“Brian? Brian? Why are you here? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. All I can tell you is I _don’t_ want to...I _don’t want to want to_ hurt you...or hurt Gus. You know I love...him. I would never… I’m sorry and I can understand why you left. Who wouldn’t?I - I can stay with Daphne after I’m discharged. I can get my stuff from the loft then. Or, or you probably want me gone like yesterday. Daph might be able to come get my things today or tomorrow. If you’ll just...if you could be around, just to let her in?”

Fuck me gently with a chainsaw. To quote the cult classic from my senior year in high school.

“Sunshine, Justin,” I began as I started pacing the small room. “I think I need to get some shit straight.”

“Right, of course,” Justin hurried to respond.

“I, uh, I don’t want you to move out from the loft,” may as well start with the easiest and most concrete. “Unless - unless of course you feel you need to or, like, you doctors think it’s not healthy for you to be with me.” Daphne had argued this wasn’t true, but she could have been wrong. There’s a first time for everything.

“What? No, fuck no. Even if they said...I just assumed that after...I told you...I told you what I told you, you would want me gone. You wouldn’t want me anymore.”

Oh Justin. “There isn’t anything... The world in which I don’t want you, that doesn’t exist. Okay? If last night proved anything, it’s I’m fairly well fucked for you. This is it for me, kid. There’s no real living without you. There’s no going back to before. There’s no without.”

“But - but last night, you left. I told you...and you left. Brian, it was pretty fucking clear you didn’t...you don’t want me.” It sounded like he was forcing the words out and then he hurried to add, “Not that I blame you. I get it. I do. I’m fucking scared of myself, why wouldn’t you be scared of me?” He whispered the “me.”

I stopped and stared at him for probably 20 seconds and then returned to pacing. I can hardly sit still on a good day and this was as far from a good day as I could imagine, except to imagine the day Justin wises up to the fact that he is so goddamn much more than I am and leaves so he can truly live the life he was meant to.

“Justin, listen. Are you listening?”

“Yeah.”

Stupid catch phrases aside, he really needed to hear this. To get this. “I am not afraid of you. There is nothing - nothing - you could think or say or even fucking do that would make me afraid of you. Afraid for you? Fuck yes, we’ve got some goddamn precedent there. But you? I know you. If I fucking know anyone...if I know anything, I know you Justin. I couldn’t be afraid of you if I tried.”

“Is that a challenge?” A little bit of his smile seemed to be peeking through the clouds. Thank fuck.

I popped my tongue in my cheek. “Look, I’ve kinda psyched myself up to say a few things here. Can you let me get this shit out before I can’t?”

“Sure,” he held his hands in front of him like ‘you’ve got the stage.’

“I’m not fucking afraid of you. Not going to happen. I left...I realize now it was maybe not the best choice, maybe my logic there was a bit flawed. You should thank Daphne for this. By the way, that girl is frightening and she should never be allowed around Debbie again. I don’t even want to imagine what would happen if they combined forces.”

“Brian...you were saying?”

“Right, right. I, uh, I may have some shit still about what happened...what happened at prom and it fucking feels like I keep fucking up your life. Whenever you’re hurt, I’m there, standing by, watching and not doing a fucking thing. And I can’t help but wonder, what if I wasn’t?”

“What if you weren’t, what?”

“There.”

“There? Where?”

“Wherever!” I know my voice rose a bit, and the kid didn’t deserve that. “Where...at prom, living with you...wherever you are when you’re hurt and I’m right there. What the fuck am I supposed to think Sunshine?”

“You think you caused all this? Just because you are there? Like physically nearby when shit goes down?”

“Yes. And, look, all that shit I said about I have no life without you, whatever. That’s not to...that’s not to put some guilt trip on you. I just...I just wanted you to know that I wouldn’t walk away, I wouldn’t leave because of you. But, fuck, Justin you gotta know, you better know, if, if you felt you would be in any way better off, happier, healthier, whateverthefuck, I would leave. No hesitation. You...you get this...this life. You get to have happiness. And I’ll - I’ll do whatever you say you need.”

“Brian...you’re not the reason shit happens. To me, to anyone. You’ve got to stop casting yourself as the villain.”

Well fuck if that’s not exactly what Daphne said.

“I think I’m probably as fucked for you as you say you are for me. I...If anything, Brian, you save me. You’re always there _because you’re always there for me_. Fuck knows what would have happened if you hadn’t stopped Hobbs.” My stomach turned at the mention of his name. “And god, Brian, if you hadn’t asked me...I couldn’t keep living feeling the way I have been.”

I paused my pacing in front of him and dared to look in his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Fuck, if they could bottle the relief I felt in that moment, some big pharma company would make a fortune selling it as an anxiolytic and I could make a fortune marketing the shit out of it.

“But Brian?”

“Hmmm,” I was still lost in my fantasy of getting super rich off of patenting the relief I felt.

“You’ve got to stop fucking doing this shit...this thinking you know shit before even asking me and then doing whatever the fuck you think is best because you’ve jumped to some conclusion. Conclusions, by the way, that always involve you pushing someone...me, off this Kinney Cliff and just disappearing on me. You can’t do that. That’s not fighting fair. I get to have a say. I get to tell you whether what you’re thinking is even right or not. You don’t know better than I do what’s going on for me. You don’t get to decide my life for me. If you were scared about what I...yeah then you get to make a decision about what’s best for you. But if you’re deciding shit for me? I think I at least get a vote.”

I told you I’m working on this unilateral decision-making thing.

“Fair enough, Sunshine.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

I was still paused in front of his chair, and his back was to the door. I sank to my knees and started kissing him. I couldn’t pull him in any closer as I gripped his shoulders, trying to be careful to not leave bruises where my fingers were pushed into his skin. And god, he kissed me back and dug his fingers into me and he pulled me in, and fuck it hurt so good. And I tried to push the last night and what it was like when I truly believed I would never have this again from my mind but it was there and it made my kiss desperate. And fucking grateful. I was grateful that one of us had been able to think clearly and logically and made sure we were going to keep being us. And you might think there was some irony that the one thinking clearly was the one who was in-patient on a psych unit, but Justin on his worst day is better at leading us than me on my best. I ran my hands under his shirt and up his back, pulling, pulling, pulling him into me. I let one hand slip under the back of his elastic waist band on the sweats he was wearing and he moaned a little into my mouth. I wrapped both hands around his waistband and pulled his pants down just enough and his cock was already hardening. I took him in my mouth and just relished feeling him as he hardened fully.

“Brian, Brian,” he whispered. The kid loves to fuck in public, but those country club manners somehow made a hospital therapy room off-limits.

“Shhh, Justin, just let me.” I just fucking needed to worship him right then. I know Justin and what gets him off almost better than I know myself and usually it takes no time to go from 0 to 60 when I want it to. Although, let’s face it, neither of us is ever at 0 around the other. I was doing everything I knew he loved and he was biting his fist trying to keep himself from groaning, or whatever he felt would be inappropriate given the setting. Even pulling out all the stops, it took a bit longer but I didn’t fucking care, there’s nothing better than blowing Justin, getting him to lose his mind and feeling him and tasting him and knowing that’s all me.

When he finally came and I was tucking him back into his pants, we heard someone very obviously clearing their throat. I looked up and Justin twisted in his chair. We saw the nurse hovering by the open door, her back toward us. I looked up at Justin and we both started laughing.

“Hey, Tori, thanks for standing guard,” he said. He was red from embarrassment and goddamn if I was ever going to even think the word ‘adorable’ it would be when he blushes like this. “We’re, um, finished.”

She turned and took a couple of steps into the room. “I thought you might need that. I’m glad you two seem to have resolved...things.”

“Yeah.” Justin flashed her a smile. “And you were right...thank you...for everything.”

I suddenly felt warmly to this nurse if she, along with Daphne, had been there for Justin yesterday when I had my head stuck firmly up my ass, and not in a positive life-affirming way.

“As much as I hate to interrupt, Justin, Dr. Bitonti is ready to meet with you for today’s session.”

“But visiting hours aren’t over! Can’t I see him after Brian has to leave?”

“I know... It’s Saturday, the doctors like to do their rounds early on weekends.” Of course, wouldn’t want to take valuable time away from the golf course. “Also, I was thinking - and we would have to clear it with Dr. Bitonti first - maybe Brian could sit in for a bit on your session. He’s obviously an important part of your life and will be a part of your recovery. Only with your consent, of course, and if Brian is willing.”

Talk with a shrink? I had just told Justin I would do whatever it takes for him to get better. I guess I’ll talk with a shrink, then.

Justin looked at me, uncertain. “Look, Sunshine.”

“Sunshine? Ha! Oh that’s perfect!” Tori commented. Justin’s face fell, obviously assuming I was going to excuse myself before having to join his session. Not like I haven’t given him plenty of reasons to believe that would be the case.

“If you’re okay with it, I’ll come to your session. Tori’s right. Whatever I can do, whatever you need. Only if you’re comfortable though, I understand if you want things with your shrink to be private.”

“You will? If you’re okay with it, yeah I would like that. I don’t think Dr. Bitonti is going to be my shrink when I’m discharged...this is just for now. Maybe when I’m actually in therapy, maybe it wouldn’t make sense for you to come to my appointments, but for now....Tori? Do you think there’s anyway I will be released before the 72-hour hold is over?”

“I don’t know, Justin. It’s certainly happened before. It depends on how you’re feeling and what you and Dr. Bitonti think is best for you.”

“She’s right Justin, no sense in cheating yourself. If being here is helpful, if it’s what you need, then stay the last day.”

“Being at the loft...being home, with you, that’s what’s best for me.” He had a defiant expression, and I hadn’t even realized until that moment that I had missed it.

“Well, then let’s get you both to the session with Dr. B and see what he says.” Tori smiled and it seemed that smile was at least partially in response to Justin’s little fighter stance. I liked this woman.

We stood and walked out of the door. As I passed her, she touched my arm and I turned.

“I’m glad you came back,” she said. “Don’t fucking do that to him again.”

Yeah, I liked this woman.


End file.
